


Bite Me, Old Man

by InfernalPume



Category: Final Space (Cartoon)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Did I Mention Angst?, Doubt, Filicide, Gen, Heavy Angst, More angst, Pre-Canon, Strained Relationships, bet this is an attack on you personally, tera con prime, why did i do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfernalPume/pseuds/InfernalPume
Summary: Sometimes things like this actually make us closer.
Relationships: Avocato & Little Cato (Final Space)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	Bite Me, Old Man

"I'm calling it, he's not showing."

The young Ventrexian's voice was glum and a little bored as she voiced her theory, not even looking up from flipping her smasher. In the dim light of the makeshift locker rooms it was hard to read her expression, but it was obvious that Capurrcino was on her last nerve beneath the boredom. Both of them were. Black Cateaux slammed his locker shut and was about to snap at his sister, but she had a point. They had been here for half an hour now, and it was only a few more matches before they'd need to forfeit. Still- a team was only as strong as their captain, and doubting the captain wouldn't end well. With a deep sigh, Black Cateaux pulled on his eyeglass and tried to put on a hopeful voice.

"You don't know that yet, maybe he-"

Capurrcino didn't even bother to let him finish, widening her eyes in sarcastic revelation.

"Oh! Maybe his old man finally snapped and _killed_ him!" she mused, "Or sold him to some exotic pets weirdo!"

_"Shut up-_ that's not funny," Black Cateaux growled, before going to stand by the entrance gate again, "You don't know their situation. It’s like... well it's complicated-"

This pathetic little argument was interrupted by the hissing of the exit latch sliding open. An exhausted-looking Little Cato practically wilted beneath his duffel as he fought to catch his breath against a water fountain.

"S-sorry guys!" he panted, "I had to-"

_"Escape the traveling fur merchant,"_ Capurrcino hissed behind her hand.

"-Give my dad the slip. He-"

_"Sold him to a traveling fur mer-,"_ she tried to hiss again, but was elbowed hard by Black Cateaux.

She yelped loudly, interrupting Little Cato's apology as he glanced nervously between them. Black Cateaux gave him a smile and nodded, as if allowing him to continue.

"...Anyway- point is I'm sorry," Little Cato said, rubbing the back of his neck, "Are we disqualified?"

"Not yet," Capurrcino said lazily, shoving Black Cateaux hard on her way to rest a hand on Little Cato's shoulder, "And now that you're here, they're gonna wish we had!"

Little Cato smiled a bit with relief, before pushing his friend away to start changing into his gear. "Heck yeah they are! We're gonna _wreck_ them! we're gonna wreck them so hard- it’s gonna be insane how hard they get wrecked!"

The tension in the room abated as their team captain repeated his little mantra. It was difficult to stay mad at a bonified thimbles champion from Ventrexia, even if he could barely show up to games.

By the time all three players were suited up in their patchy home-made uniforms, there were only a few more teams that could still face them in the qualifier round. Capurrcino rushed ahead of the boys to lock down a slot on the roster, while Black Cateaux and Little Cato lingered behind in the gate. Even as he pumped himself up Little Cato could feel his friends worry like a knife to his back.

"Dude, it's fine," Little Cato said as he did some quick stretches, "I'm good to play tonight."

"If you say so," was all his friend answered before a siren blared overhead, signalling the end of the match, "Ready, then?"

Little Cato smirked and was about to answer before Capurrcino barrelled back up to them, swinging her smasher in excitement.

"We’re on!” She cried, _“Let’s fuck 'em up!"_

* * *

Battered, bruised, and a little singed, Little Cato was on top of the world as he waved to his friends after the match.

The night air was cool on his exposed fur, still a bit sweaty from running around in his full body uniform. It really had been a devastating series of matches- devastating for _who_ one might ask? For the idiots who went up against the _Scarlet Vipers_ , of course!

Little Cato hooted and leapt up onto the railing of a catwalk, sliding to the bottom with a triumphant roar. He’d never been so pumped up! Not even the frigid silence of a winter night could get the little Ventrexian down, the long walk only allowing him to bask in his victory for a little longer as he cooled off.

Really, Little Cato wished that the walk could last forever. It was always the part at the end of his walk that soured his mood. The whole being home part.

It’s not that it was like _that_. Not like the stuff that you’d see on TV. Capurrcino’s theories were way off and Black was always worried over nothing, probably because their parents were afraid of him too. When they heard _‘My dad, the master of death, is being a dick again,’_ their imaginations went overboard. But it was never _that_ bad.

…But in these small quiet hours Little Cato allowed himself to take in a deep breath to prepare for the crap storm that waited for him inside.

_“Where the hell were you?”_

Little Cato’s ears flattened against his head the moment he closed the door behind him. He momentarily felt his limited 11 years before he sighed and turned to show his dad a bored expression.

“Getting milk,” he lied, perhaps the worst lie in the history of lies. Little Cato didn’t even flinch.

The lower lid of Avocato’s eye twitched, hands balled into fists on either side of his body. Though it was hours since he left the ‘office’ he still wore that dumb Master of Death getup, the pin of a high-ranking officer catching the crystal’s dim light in their home.

“I swear- if you were out playing that stupid game again-“

“ _Thimbles_ ,” Little Cato corrected, and to put the crap icing on this piece of shit cake, finished his father’s rant for him, “And yeah, yeah. It’s a frivolous game, a distraction, a waste of my time and training- Did I leave anything out?”

“You do _not_ speak to me like that, boy,” Avocato growled, his voice growing soft and dangerous. That was the voice soldiers heard before getting their heads ripped from their shoulders. The voice that shook new recruits down to their bones.

But to Little Cato, it was a voice that proved he was winning.

“Oh my god!” He said, putting his hands on his cheeks in shock, “I don’t? Then why did I just say that? Are we in a parallel dimension? _This is so weird!”_

He dropped his mocking with a deliberate scowl aimed right at his father. Though he barely came up to Avocato’s chest he stood his ground as firm as any full-grown adversary.

“Bite me.”

With that he whipped around and scurried off to his room before his dad could pitch an even greater fit. It was a close thing- he heard the roar and the furious stomping up the steps, before they predictably died down with a final growl of frustration and an accompanying slam of the front door.

“ _Hypocrite_ ,” Little Cato grumbled, before landing heavily into bed.

Little Cato’s tail flicked irritably as he stared at the ceiling and tried to push the interaction out of his mind. He’d just won a tournament! …Well, as much as a tournament could be on this shitty space rock. Not like the backally ‘stadiums’ could be considered a real test for the junior elite champion he was back on Ventrexia. Yet another reason Little Cato resented being relocated just so his dad could suck some space dictator’s dick.

Kicking off his boots Little Cato rolled onto his side and curled up into a ball. Everything was better on Ventrexia. Training was less boring when he had other cadets his rank to spar with. There were no weird statues with eyes that followed you, or gross food that stank up the bazaar. Not to mention there was actual weather. Sunlight, snow, hell- Little Cato would have taken a _cloud_ just to look up at something other than asteroids and stars for once.

Flopping onto his stomach Little Cato glared at his own uniform untouched on its armour stand. One day he’d be marching _‘For infinity, for the Lord Commander’_ , same with Black and Cino. They was no soldiers yet, but nobody just hired Ventrexians and didn’t expect the whole line to fall in as well.

The only weird thing was that there weren’t any generations in the militia already.

* * *

Little Cato wasn’t sure when exactly he fell asleep, only that he very suddenly wasn’t anymore. He shot up from his bed with a start, every inch of his fur standing on end, but whatever sound had woken him up had stopped, perhaps not even occurred in the first place.

Rubbing his face, Little Cato sat heavily on the edge of his bed and tried to wake up a bit more. He was so disoriented that he almost didn’t hear the gentle murmurs from down below.

_“…and it was open.”_

Little Cato’s ears pricked to the faint sound, within moments he was up on his feet and rushing for the door.

What the hell were the guys doing? They knew that they couldn’t come over unless Little Cato gave them the clear! _‘Mingling with lessers will only lead opportunists taking advantage of us.’_ Or whatever. Was Black really convinced that Little Cato’s dad _actually_ wanted to kill him?

_“…must be weird to be back.”_

Little Cato paused. A girl’s voice, and not the sarcastic drawl of Capurrcino.

_“No, actually it’s kinda…”_

Little Cato rushed down his hall and leapt up onto the bannister railing. His muscles still ached from the tournament, but he was able to hold himself up as he called out.

“…Hello?”

There wasn’t much time to gawk at the people in his house- Little Cato was immediately subjected to a bullet storm courtesy of the massive Tryvuulian with a machine gun… for an arm?

“Oh my god- What?!” Little Cato cried, unable to keep the excitement from his voice, “Intruders!”

Whoever these guys were, they picked the _wrong_ day to steal from this Ventrexian! Pumped up from an epic win and in serious need of working out some frustration, Little Cato practically cackled with glee as he jumped down to counterattack.

“I’m gonna get you guys!” he said, “I’m going to get you _so good!”_

From the years of grappling techniques and the calisthenics regimen he’d had forced on him since he could walk, Little Cato was itching for an excuse to be in a real fight. Thimbles was great and all, but finally he’d have an actual opponent to try himself against. And they’d shot at him! To like, _kill_ him and junk! So he could go straight crazy on these fools!

“Who are you,” he demanded mid punch- _aw man he sounded so cool when he said that!_ “And why do you…”

Another Ventrexian kid fought him next, and to Little Cato’s astonishment, one who resembled him to an eerie extent, “…Look like a gross older version of me?”

His gross older doppelgänger hissed and launched him up onto a shelf, which he scrambled away from before he could be pounced on again. Landing back on the stairs Little Cato glared up at his attacker.

“First of all, _rude_ ,” Said the Fraudo-cato, “I’ve been training my whole life for this!”

What a coincidence, so had Little Cato!

Something else was said but Little Cato didn’t hear as he hissed and launched into another counterattack. The speed at which his opponent blocked him was impressive, trading blows on the staircase until he was launched back into the centre of the room. The tryvuulian and the serepentian chick had him flanked on the other side, but as they sat causally on the floor Little Cato chose to focus on the fraud.

With a smirk he readied his stance, charging forward to end this kid. The fraud dodged, causing Little Cato to lose his balance a little. Okay, not the greatest but that was fine. He circled his opponent and tried again, only for him to just barely dodge a jab from the fraud. This was getting worrying, Little Cato was just beginning to think that maybe he didn’t got this so good when-

**_SCRAK_**.

Little Cato’s jaw crunched when the uppercut hit home, rattling his teeth and sending a numbness through his gums. The last thing he felt was pain in his knees as he buckled, not even remaining conscious long enough to hit the floor.

* * *

It was the humiliation that ached more than his jaw.

All his father told him was that their house had been robbed and that he’d done well for being outnumbered. Never mind that he didn’t even land a scratch on the other two, but Little Cato supposed he didn’t need to tell anyone that part. Still, he knew, he knew as he gingerly tried to chew his breakfast around the pain, he knew as he put a bit more effort into his routine that morning, and he knew when he refused to tell Black Cateaux and Capurrcino what happened.

“Leave him alone, Black,” Capurrcino groaned, bored with the interrogation already, “It was obviously those renegade dudes.”

There was a silence amongst them that clung to the flimsy walls of their little hidey-shack in the lowest level of the colony.

“Okay, now I’m lost,” Little Cato said, “Renegade dudes?”

“Yeah,” Black piped up, “Didn’t you hear? There was apparently a small raid on the fortress, killed a few guards and even managed to get into one of the Lord Commander’s super restricted vaults.”

He scooted forward conspiratorially- as if anyone could hear them this deep in the trenches, “They didn’t take anything, but word is they did manage to steal his... _pet_ or something. This incredibly dangerous planet-killing monster that they’re gonna turn on us all!”

By the way his voice was steadily increasing in volume, it was obvious the kid was panicking.

Little Cato rolled his eyes, while Cino smacked Black upside the head before he could start the waterworks.

“ _Crybaby_ ,” she snarled, disgusted, “No way the Lord Commander would let some nobodies come in and steal his shit. They were probably just traitors who went crazy and tripped a bunch of alarms on accident as they tried to leave.” 

“And the monster?” Black demanded, rubbing his head.

“The Lord Commander doesn’t have any pets,” Little Cato chimed in, “He’s not the nurturing kinda’ guy. They probably just shot one of the assistants he _treats_ like animals or something.”

_“Anyway,”_ Cino spoke up, “It was probably one of them that tried to rob your place before they got out. Why they thought your place was a good idea is anyone’s guess, but I guess they were lucky it was just _you_ at home.”

The cruel smirk she gave him deserved a shove, so he gave it to her. That won him a shove back.

“Want me to finish what those bastards started?” she warned.

Cino never meant it, but Black brought up a hand between them anyway.

“Don’t start,” He said, dodging his sister’s second swipe at his head, “We need to get back to drills in a minute and Cato can put you in a splint with or without a broken jaw.”

Little Cato sat back appropriately smug, but his heart wasn’t fully in it. There was a silence that fell upon the trio again. These scuffles were common- Little Cato didn’t exactly gel with Black’s coddling or Cino’s outbursts. Their father was just _barely_ an officer, let his kids get away with murder and their sentimentality got on his nerves. But usually the bickering was all in good fun. Now the both of them were weirdly anxious.

It was Black Cateaux who broke the silence.

“Lord Commander’s _pissed_ though,” he said, “Super mega-bonkers pissed off. Like- _going to do something crazy if he doesn’t find the traitors_ pissed off.”

“Don’t blame him,” Capurrcino’s voice was back to that disinterested drawl, “If they got far enough to trip his vault’s alarm, they must have either been someone from his inner circle or in the pocket of one. There’s _definitely_ still a rat skulking about the higher ranks.”

Neither of them looked at Little Cato, but the question still hung above him. Again the humiliation of being defeated so easily stung, and Little Cato decided he didn’t appreciate what they might be insinuating.

“Well I have _no idea_ ,” he snapped, “Dad didn’t tell me _any_ of this, just that a bunch of them tried to rob our house.”

“…Nothing?”

“I said nothing! Anyway- don’t you have somewhere to _be?”_ he glared at the both of them, “Or have they already decided it’s a waste to train _turret fodder?”_

Little Cato knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his mouth. Capurrcino gave him a death glare while the comment seemed to slap Black across the face. Before Little Cato could so much as open his mouth it was the younger sister who spoke up.

“Just because your shitty dad keeps you in the dark, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us.”

Little Cato should have leapt up and knocked her out. Just like he should have been able to take out at least one of the renegades who broke into his house. If they really had caused such a ruckus, he was even more of a failure for not managing to capture a single one of them for his father to interrogate.

But he’d let them get away, and Capurrcino’s tone was soft and dangerous. It told Little Cato this wasn’t her usual parody of a temper, and even if he was injured, she was nowhere the vicinity of fucking around.

Little Cato lingered in the shack for a bit after they left. Mostly because he’d just sat there simmering when they’d gotten up and it would have been awkward to follow after them back to the elevators. Besides, it’s not like he had any instructors that would penalise him if he was late for drills. Little Cato could head back to his empty house any time he wanted to pick the mornings workout back up.

So he just rubbed his jaw and stared up at the colony through the holes in the tattered tarp they used as a roof.

Everything was better on Ventrexia.

* * *

“So, you were out?”  
  


  
Little Cato froze, his hand still on the doorknob. Icicles formed in the pit of his stomach as he slowly turned, for the first time in a long time genuinely caught red handed by his father.  
  


  
Avocato sat almost lazily on the sofa, not even looking up from his rifle in pieces on the coffee table. Still in uniform, _always_ in uniform, the Lord Commander’s second looked a bit out of place loafing about it his own home. A home that was usually empty at this time, save for Little Cato. _In Theory._

“I… uh…” Little Cato stammered, unprepared for this.

Usually when he snuck out he did so with an understanding of whether or not it would be worth it to get caught. But going out in the _day?_ When drills were on, when the Master of Death was off… presumably killing people?

Avocato finaly looked up at his son, those hard eyes fixing him in place for a long time.  
  


  
“No backtalk?” he said, “Come here.”

Little Cato swallowed hard, too frazzled to think of a good enough excuse to be out when his dad made it _very clear_ he was meant to be home practicing. It was only when the gaze hardened that Little Cato stepped forward, going to stand before his father as if circling a wild animal.

“Sit.” Avocato commanded, and when Little Cato obeyed, “How’s your jaw?”  
  


  
“What?”

His father’s eyes narrowed, his hands reaching forward to gently touch the healing patch he’d put on Little Cato’s cheek that morning.

“Your _jaw,_ son,” he growled, “And your head, while I’m asking. You’re acting…”

His eyes narrowed, searching Little Cato’s face for something other than injuries it seemed.

Realisation suddenly dawned on Little Cato.

Of _course_ his dad was checking in, there was a raid on their house last night. It was stupid for Little Cato to proceed as normal with the entire colony on edge as it was. His dad probably flipped his lid when he found out Little Cato left the house undefended- how long has he been waiting here for Little Cato to come home? How deep in trouble _was_ Little Cato, exactly?

Again Little Cato swallowed nervously, trying to fight through his childish feelings. He hadn’t been so intimidated by his father since crashed one of the hover lifts into a Lord Commander statue.

“I’m fine,” he was just about all he could manage before he grunted and tried again, “Butt out. I was just getting…”

  
  
His father raised an eyebrow. “Milk?”

  
  
Little Cato Swallowed and tore his face from his grip. Half a million retorts hit him like a hurricane, but for the first time he didn’t feel _right_ using any of them. This time it wasn’t just his dad being strict, it was…

_“I’m sorry,”_ he blurted out the words before he could stop them, taking the both of them by surprise.

In a right state of mind Little Cato would rather die than say those words out loud to anyone. Especially not to his dad. But then, in his right mind he wasn’t the weakling who let strangers waltz about his house.

  
  
“It’s my fault they got into the vault, isn’t it?” It all came tumbling out like word-ahrreah, “There was probably a key or a passcode in here somewhere that they were after! That’s why they came, and if I hadn’t been knocked out so quickly, I could have stopped them- or at _least_ held them off until you got back. But I was too sore from _stupid thimbles_ just like you always said I’d be, so- “

“Boy, stop.” Avocato’s voice was firm and hard as it always was, making Little Cato flinch and stop his confession to look up at him.

Dad was frowning. Well, he was _always_ frowning, but something about the bafflement layered on top of that frown made it so much worse. They sat quietly for a bit, Little Cato bouncing his leg nervously as he waited for the reprimand of his life.

  
  


“Do you remember anything about…” his father’s voice was slow, as if selecting his words carefully, “…The people who attacked you?”  
  


  
Little Cato swallowed, feeling like a stupid over-emotional kid again. That’s right, he was a witness. His dad just wanted to talk to him so they could find the people that did it. That was all.

“There was a Tryvuulian,” he said, ears going back with distaste at the memory of one of them in his house, “And this Serepentian girl. And then there was…”  
  


  
It was Little Cato’s turn to trail off.

All the pieces finally came together in his mind, and again he looked up into his father’s face. That look of someone trying to get some very vital information out of the kid he thought he knew. The constantly disobedient kid who looks _exactly_ like one of the intruders who was currently on the Lord Commander’s shit list.

“…I didn’t see the last one,” Little Cato lied, “He jumped me from behind. I _tried_ to fight back- but I was distracted by the Tryvuulian.”

His dad knew he was lying. He _had_ to know. But his lie was a hell of a lot more convincing than ‘oh there’s this lookalike who attacked me and just in case anyone else saw him you just let them know that it totally wasn’t me and it’s not my fault your boss is throwing a fit.’

There was a long, agonizing, silence.

His father was wearing that frown again. The new one that made Little Cato uneasy- confused, frustrated and… sorrowful. Wondering if his only son had stabbed him in the back?

Finally the older man sighed and got to his feet, leaving the rifle in pieces on his desk.

“I have business to attend to,” Avocato said, his voice returning to its usual hardness, “I’ll be back by midnight. Do not leave the house again.”  
  
  


“Yes sir,” Little Cato said, hating how meek his voice sounded.

  
  
As the door swung shut behind Avocato, Little Cato just sat bewildered on the sofa. His eyes fell again to the rifle. Maybe there _was_ something wrong with his head- maybe there was no doppelgänger and he’d forgotten what the third assailant looked like. Maybe it was as simple as a bunch of thugs breaking into his house and beating up the kid who was left alone there. It wasn’t his fault- _he was just a kid!_

Little Cato hissed and shook the thoughts from his head. Now he just sounded like Black.

There was no way his dad suspected him, right? Little Cato pushed his buttons, he was a kid! That’s what he was meant to do! Sure they didn’t get along all the time, maybe he smiled less and shouted more than other dads, but that was a far cry from ratting him out to the Lord Commander. Dad would never do that, he wouldn’t even _think_ about it…

But Little Cato couldn't banish those thoughts from his mind even as he tried to sleep that night. Long past midnight, he’d heard the front door open and shut alongside the stairs creaking as his father went to sleep in the room just next to his own. If he focused he swore he could hear his dad snoring, but then that might have just been the creaking of the colony’s scaffolding.

In the dead of night Cino’s cruel jokes swam to the forefront of Little Cato’s mind:

_“I bet his old man snapped and killed him. I bet he’s sold him to some maniac.”_

* * *

If he were asked, Little Cato would say that it was because he was furious he had lost the fight.

It’s not like anyone did ask, Little Cato hadn’t snuck out to see Black and Cino and his dad didn’t come home early to check on him again. But if someone were to come through the door and find Little Cato diligently going through his exercises, cleaning the house, and practicing his battle stances, the explanation he’d give them was that he was getting ready for a rematch against that traitor scum.

Not to prove to his dad that he was still worth keeping around- that was a stupid sentiment that he wouldn’t dignified with a second thought.

If Avocato noticed that his son had become more diligent with his training he didn’t show it. The man was even more married to work than usual, the whole colony buzzing about finding the strange life form that had escaped during the incident. Soon his father had disappeared back into his Master of Death persona, only showing up late at night to sleep and eat.

The first few nights since his dad’s interrogation Little Cato expected a counter-attack, until he realised that the weeks after an attack on a heavily armed fortress were probably the _least_ likely to have random assassins come in the night. So when there was an impromptu thudding at his door one morning, Little Cato was honestly at a loss for who it might be.

Upon opening the door, the first thing Little Cato saw were the teeth. They looked a bit like eyes, and Little Cato thought that’s what they were until he saw the single large red eye glaring down at him. By the goons behind him, the sinister way that pupil followed his every move, and the overall air of being a super nasty dude, Little Cato could tell he was an… _associate…_ of his fathers.

  
  
“Dad’s not home,” Little Cato said irritably, moving to shut the door in the cyborg’s face before a silver-taloned claw shot out to hold it open. 

“I know.” The voice was slick and metallic, enough to make the fur on the back of Little Cato’s neck stand on end, “The Lord Commander desires your presence.”  
  
  


The goons rushed into the house before Little Cato could respond, wasting no time in latching his arms behind his back.

Little Cato didn’t allow himself to be stunned for long. Yanking himself backwards he tried to dig his heel into his captor’s foot to release him. No luck, the goon just gave him a sharp whap on his bad cheek, causing a traitorous tear to roll down Little Cato’s chin from the pain.  
  
  


“You can’t do this,” he spat, “My father-”

“Your father is waiting for you,” The cyclops continued in that sickening voice, “Your father is eager to prove himself worthy to the Lord Commander.”

Hell.

Little Cato had sworn he’d been in hell about a hundred times. Bratty pre-teens often did. But as he was shoved into a heard of young boys and lead through the pandemonium, Little Cato knew this was the real deal.

The smells of death, plasma fluid, and blood stank up the air. The wailing of children- some of them younger than even Little Cato, cut off abruptly with the sickening discharge of pistols. Tera Con Prime had never been pretty, but the sickly yellow sunlight scorched the field into a hellscape as young boys were torn from the herd and placed before soldiers to be executed. Little Cato was too mortified to even notice that his peers were only assigned to soldiers of their same species, it was only when he saw Capurrcino that the pieces began to come together.

Her screams seemed to slice through the ruckus at the exact moment Little Cato spotted her. She was bent forward, mercifully still alive, but gripping a dark oozing lump where it lay in the grass while her father-

_Their father._

He was just _barely_ an officer…

“I’ve been a reasonable leader,” Little Cato couldn’t tear his eyes away from Black’s broken body until he heard the familiar sneering voice of the Lord Commander cut through the intercoms, “I expect very little. I expect order, and I expect _loyalty.”_

Little Cato didn’t want to hear the rest of his speech, he knew what was coming.

  
  
“One of you has betrayed me, one of you has let my key to greatness escape. And the rest of you are too _incompetent_ to find out who!”

There in the distance, standing just behind the Lord Commander as he spoke into the projector sphere. Little Cato’s stomach dropped out from his body. The man just _stood_ there, watching this- watching it all happen. _Knowing_ what all this meant…

“So I’ve devised this little test for you all. An opportunity to prove yourselves worthy of my army…”

  
  
Little Cato’s fear numbed the pain. The mook that held him didn’t expect a sudden bodyslam from Little Cato’s bad side. He stumbled, his grip on Little Cato loosening. Little Cato’s hands were still shackled, a problem he solved by leaping up and back behind his other captor just as he raised his pistol to fire. Placing the bonds before the plasma rifle’s barrel Little Cato dug his teeth into his own shoulder as the blast seared his fur.

“For Infinity!”

It didn’t matter, Little Cato’s hands were free. He ignored the burning as he shoved past the officers, most of them too absorbed with their work to notice one kid making a run for it. He could get away. Far away from this place, be a gun for hire. He could bribe someone into giving him papers, start a new life far away from here. Where he’d never have to _think_ about this horrible place again, forget he ever so much as _saw_ the master of death.

“For the Lord Commander!”

A swift kick to the gut was what got him, a pair of androids taking him by each arm and dragging him back to the centre of the field. Little Cato couldn’t hear anything. A ringing in his ears drowned out the Lord Commanders words, the screaming of the others, the sickening wet slap of young bodies hitting the dirt.

It felt like an eternity, but finally their eyes met. It sent a shockwave down Little Cato’s spine, enough to stop him struggling for just a moment as he froze in that familiar gaze.

He didn’t scream- didn’t say anything at all. What could he even say? _‘I’m sorry! It wasn’t me! I promise I wont play thimbles anymore! Please don’t kill me!’_

A metallic hand grabbed the teal tuft of hair on Little Gato’s crest. Unlike the others, they held him facing his father. They forced him to look General Avocato in the eyes. Fear gripped his whole body, to intense to even form tears as he watched that impassive face slowly turn to a snarl. The pistol rose and Little Cato’s heart all but stopped. He was going to do it. He was actually going to do it.

When the blast broke through the ringing in Little Cato’s ears he flinched, tensing up in anticipation for the pain.

It never came. Only two metallic _thuds_ on either side as the grip on his arms fell away. Little Cato gingerly opened his eyes, just in time to see his father turning to aim his pistol at the Lord Commander. He was only free for a moment, in the seconds he took to rush forward thorns pierced Little Cato’s fur. The vines shoved the lifeless droids out of the way as Little Cato was hoisted into the air. Little Caro reached for Avocato’s hand, screaming out for him as they were pulled apart.  
  
  
It was no use. Little Cato could only watch as he was hoisted higher and higher, his dad shoved down into the dirt. The Master of Death, The Lord Commander’s right hand man, General Avocato, Little Cato’s father was held down like an animal as they took Little Cato away.  
  
  


It was hard to pick words apart from the screams and roaring flames, but that demonic voice could cut through anything.  
  
  
 _I own your son. And now, I own you._

* * *

Little Cato’s prison wasn’t much of an improvement on the holding cell they’d dumped him in that first night. With only a bench and that sickly green light it was hard to determine the passage of time, though Little Cato surmised it had to have been at least a couple of days since he’d been capture.

A lot of time to himself in the cool green light to contemplate how thoroughly _fucked_ he was. Lucky him.

It had almost become the highlight of his day when that creepy cyborg thing came in to deliver meals. And by ‘deliver’, that usually meant chucking a tray mashed potatoes at his head. The first few nights Little Cato had been too proud to pick mouldy goop from the cracks in the floor. He was still too proud, but that was waning somewhat. Mostly thinking about it to get rid of the smell.

If he was lucky, Little Cato would spot prisoners being escorted in the hallway outside. One time he swore he saw Capurrcino, though it was hard to tell under the straight jacket. Whoever it was, she still had a disembodied Ventrexian ear in her teeth when they carted her away, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the one she had on her own head.

Little Cato wanted to believe that was Cino, he hoped that wherever Black was, he’d been avenged.

There wasn’t much to do to pass the time. Little Cato took up beatboxing. He was utter crap at it, hopefully he wouldn’t stay here long enough for that to change. It wasn’t until he was just about ready to claw his _own_ ear off with boredom that a projection of The Lord Commander finally made an unceremonious appearance within his cell.

At first Little Cato didn’t even bother to look up. He didn’t want to give the sick bastard the _satisfaction._ But then he heard that nasally snarl, and was taken aback by how _pathetic_ the guy who has ruined so many lives sounded.

“How are you enjoying your stay?”  
  
  
Little Cato turned his head lazily, as if only just noticing he was there and wasn’t impressed much. To put some crap icing on the piece of shit cake, Little Cato interrupted his villain speech by answering the rhetorical question.

“Pretty great actually. Loving how pissed off you probably are that you still haven’t found your super weapon.”

Fury built behind the Lord Commander’s eyes, but it only lasted for a second.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Little Cato,” he drawled, “I may not have found the key, but I’m very satisfied to know that your father was the traitor all along.”

Those words actually made Little Cato pause. Only in that it confirmed the last few questions he had in his mind.

“My dad’s not a traitor,” Little Cato said, more to himself, “Not where it _matters.”_

Another few seconds to make his next sentence as badass as it could be in his head.

“…And my dad is going to find me. And when he does, _we’re going to kill you.”_


End file.
